From Up in Heaven
by JenniGellerBing
Summary: Monica dies - but is she truly gone? Dealing with the afterlife... and life back on Earth. *FINISHED* Thanks for reading!!!!
1. Chapter 1

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A/N: This fic is a little different from my others, partly because it's written in first-person POV. The idea came to me one day and I thought about it for a long time before actually sitting down to write it. And, like I said in the summary, it is VERY loosely based on the _New York Times_ bestseller list book The Lovely Bones. But don't worry, I'm not stealing the book, only the basis of it. This story is very different, but if you've read The Lovely Bones(which I recommend!) you may see the similarities. This story takes place right now - Season 9. Anyway, please read and review.

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From Up In Heaven

CHAPTER ONE

I'll never forget the day I died.

Well, no one ever does. Most of us have it imprinted in our minds. For a while, it's all we think about. It's like our lives revolve around our death. My therapist, Jessie, advised me to let it go. _There's nothing you can do to change it and you'll just be miserable if you concentrate on it._

_Yes, but I want to concentrate on it!_ I exclaimed. There were so many things I could have done, could have changed, if only I'd known that day would be my last of Earth. So many people to say good-bye to. So many to apologize to and laugh with and cry with and promise to remember forever. 

But no. I died. Unaware. Thankfully, without much pain. But it was still horrible. It's not pleasant to die. You see and feel everything for a while, but then you drift away and watch it all. That last breath rushes out of you like a balloon deflating, and you hear a sound like a train running you down. And then you're sucked up, up, through a whirlpool of lights and sounds and people. You see everyone you love one last time, but they can't see you. Sometimes, if they are special in a certain way that I have yet to figure out, they can feel you, like a breeze floating by, or a lost hand touching their shoulder lightly. But it's only for a moment. 

And that's when the real story begins.

The morning before I died, I got to see all my friends one last time. For this, I am grateful. They were all together, in my apartment - a great big mass of living, breathing joy. My husband, who could have been out of the state, was there to see me one last time. My best friends. My niece. I only wish the others - my nephew, my parents - could have been there too. But I am grateful for those who were. Chandler, Ross, Rachel, Phoebe, Joey, Emma. God, I love them. 

I woke up nestled in Chandler's arms. The first thing I felt was warmth surrounding me. I kissed the tip of his nose and he woke up smiling. 

I made breakfast that morning for all of them after Ross and Rachel came over exhausted and Joey announced he was out of - well, everything. We talked and joked and played with five-month old Emma. I made her laugh that morning. Granted, it was because I dropped egg down my shirt and tried to fish it out one-handed, but still - she laughed. Then, I kissed my husband for the last time and went to work. 

Nothing out of the ordinary happened at work that day. I went through the motions of head chef, excited to get back home. I was ovulating, and we all know what that means! I left that night in a rush. The streets were jam-packed, and I opted to walk to the nearest subway station rather than take a cab. 

It embarrasses me to recount how I died. If I'd just been a little more careful, a little less rushed, it all could have been changed. On Earth and up here, I have been described as neurotic, and, as I've exclaimed many times, "You would've though I'd been smart enough to see it coming!"

But I didn't. No, I was thinking about Chandler. My husband, the love of my life, the father to my unborn, not even conceived children. I like to think he was the last thing I thought of before my good-byes. It's romantic.

So anyway, I stepped down off the curb and began to cross the street. What I didn't see was a car, driven by a maniac, barreling down the less crowded street at sixty miles an hour. It made so little noise that I didn't see or hear it until it was practically on top of me. I heard the loud honk of a nearby car, warning me, and thought, _How rude_. 

And then it hit me. I heard the smack as the car slammed into me, sending me flying up in the air. I hit the ground with a dismal crunch, and as I lay there, I could have sworn I'd broken every bone in my body. (I hadn't, I found out later.) 

The car didn't hit me again, and as I was lying there on the ground, bleeding from hundreds of wounds, many passer-by ran over. Women were screaming and crying out, and there must have been a dozen calls to 911. Little did these people know they were wasting their hard-earned minutes. 

"Dear," an older woman said, kneeling by my head. "Dear, can you hear me? Don't close your eyes. I'm a nurse. You're going to be just fine." 

They talk about your life flashing before your eyes, and I am ready to vouch for that. But this wasn't a fast-forwarded Monica movie I was watching. I saw all the people I cared about. Chandler, Ross, Joey, Rachel, Phoebe, and me, gathered around in Central Perk years ago - Ross and Ben - Rachel and Ross, proudly displaying their baby daughter Emma - my parents and family - everyone talking and laughing and hugging and loving each other. 

I saw my parents and Ross when we were children. I saw Nana and my aunts and uncles and grandparents. I remembered Christmases and Hanukkahs and Thanksgivings, then such a bore, but now treasured family memories. I wished my mother was there with me. She may not have been the best mother I could have had, but she was the one I got, and I loved her. I may have even called out for her - I can't remember. 

I remembered all the good times I'd had with my best friend Rachel, in high school and after. Rachel was the one to teach me everything I knew about men and sex, even if she didn't do it in the best way. I looked back on all the jokes and fights we'd had, all the tears and joy, the sleep-overs and parties and boyfriends we survived. I wanted to yell at her then, tell her to get over her damned pride and admit that she loved my brother! 

I saw Phoebe and Joey, who had been like my children for so long. Phoebe was a self-described flake, and she helped me for years to balance, to not stretch myself out too thin. And Joey never failed to make me laugh, usually by some mistake or anomaly. For some reason, I became confused, and thought they were together. _They'll be great together. They'll be wonderful parents._ Little did I know that I was experiencing a strange sort of ESP, something many feel before they die. 

And Chandler. I saw him as I did the night we first made love. I saw him the day he told me he loved me, and I said it back. I remembered the tears that filled my eyes when he proposed for the fourth time, and I finally accepted. And I saw him on our wedding day - the day that was, in fact, the happiest day of my life. I wanted him there with me, holding my hand, kissing me, telling me everything was going to be okay. I wanted him instead of the strangers who were there with me, comforting me, and the hard, unkind gravel that would be my deathbed. 

I heard the sirens coming nearer and nearer. "Everything will be fine," I was promised. "The ambulance is coming. Don't worry, ma'am, you're going to be fine." But my heart was slowing down - I could hear it beating in my ears, could hear the blood rushing through my slowly dying brain. It was then that my vision started to blur and dim, until the sky was just a blue dot at the center of my pupils. I was becoming detached from my body.

That was when I knew it was ending. I was scared and sad, but none of the emotions were too intense, because I was in pain. No, the horrible, gut-wrenching emotions were saved for later. 

I watched the faces above me waver and flicker. I begged them silently to save me, the final hope of a dying woman. I now knew the feelings described in those stories about soldiers dying on the battlefield. War was being fought around them, and they were in the middle, alone and cold and fading. It didn't matter that everyone was around them, that guns or horns were making noise, that soldiers were yelling or people were whispering - no, they were alone in their own heads, alone with the ends of thoughts. 

I thought about how I never got to have children. _You failed, Monica,_ I thought sadly. _You never pleased your mother_. No, I said. She loved me, and I succeeded in life. She loved me. 

Now someone else was speaking, telling me to try and not close my eyes. _You won't get to see Emma or Ben grow up. You won't see Ross and Rachel or Phoebe and Joey marry. They want you there. Hold on. Hold on for a little while. _Who was talking to me? Whose voice was that? I knew that voice.

"I can't," I gasped.

"What?" the woman above me asked. "What was that, dear?" 

_Please, Monica. Don't go yet. I need you here. I need you to come home to me. I love you._

"Chandler," I breathed. "Chandler. I love you too."

"She's talking to someone," the older woman said. "She just said I love you. Dear God. Who are you talking to?"

"Chandler," I whispered. "Tell Chandler I love him."

"What's your name, sweetheart?" another woman asked. I watched as she began to cry, and I wanted to reach up and touch her cold, wet cheek and whisper, _Don't cry. Everything will be fine. Don't cry._ Even though I didn't know her. That woman is precious to me now. She is the last person I saw. 

The sirens were above me. "Move out of the way, people! Move!" I didn't like this new voice. I much preferred the kind, soft ones of the women.

"Monica," I said with the last of my strength. "Monica Bing."

And then I died. 

A/N: Okay, you may be able to tell my now that this fic will be a little depressing. Please tell me what you think so far! Reviews are highly appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you for all the sweet reviews! This part was hard to write because everyone knows how much I hate torturing everybody! But that was crucial to this chapter

CHAPTER TWO

Like I said, I heard my last breath, and I heard the roar like water filling my ears, and then - complete silence. And darkness. I thought that was it. I was gone. There would be no more anything - ever again. I'd never really believed in heaven or an afterlife, so when I died, I sort of just figured I would fall into a pit, a black, inhuman, cruel pit of nothingness and stay there until the world ended.

Did I ever mention I was a bit of a pessimist, too?

But then I thought, _If nothing else exists, why can you still hear yourself think? Why are you still having thoughts at all? Shouldn't it be like you're asleep?_

And then, a moment later (or a moment in my consciousness - up here, you begin to realize that time is a relative thing. But then, I still thought of time as seconds and minutes and hours), I saw the proverbial "bright light." It wasn't so much of a white light at the end of a tunnel as it was a flash, like that of a camera, and then everything around me appeared.

I was in Heaven.

It took me a moment to process it all. There were people everywhere, and good smells, and things I liked. My favorite movies played on big screens on what would have been the walls, if heaven had walls, and I could see stores selling ice cream and toasted walnuts and cranberry sauce, all my favorite foods; stores were filled with clothes I liked and they all fit, with diamond necklaces and earrings - it was a girl's dream. Beautiful parks and cloudless skies and mountains covered in a fresh, clean snow surrounded me. But this was only my superficial heaven, something we see at the beginning to make us feel comfortable as we adjust going from Earth to heaven. Heaven has many layers, and if you become deep enough, you will find them. You can always come back to these things, of course.

For a short while I amused myself window shopping, just about forgetting I had died. During this time, my soul was going through the "red tape" of heaven, and I was alone. 

Soon, though, I began to realize the extent of my loneliness. I had not yet, of course, come to grips with my death - I was in shock, much as my loved ones would be. Just when I was feeling my most desperate, someone appeared. It was a middle-aged woman with slightly graying hair. A dog was walking beside her. These were figures I remembered from my childhood.

"Nana?" I said as the woman came into view. It was, in fact, my dead grandmother, just as she had looked when I was a small child. The dog was the dog Ross and I had shared, Chi Chi.

"Hello, Monica, darling," Nana said. I felt like crying all of a sudden. I was scared and confused, and I really still didn't know what was going on.

Nana sat down next to me. Well, actually, we may have been sitting - there is the possibility we were lying down or standing up. Space is another relative thing.

"Nana, is this a dream?" I asked.

"No, sweetheart. You _have _died, and you _are _in heaven. I'm sorry." She said this calmly, as if she was telling me we'd made a wrong turn off the freeway.

"I see," I said, almost as calmly. Her words sunk in, but I didn't grasp it. "So - this is heaven."

"Yes. This is your heaven." 

"I'm really dead."

"Yes."

"No, I'm dreaming."

"Pinch yourself, darling. Go on."

I did. I grabbed my own arm and pinched, hard. I winced at the pain and watched as my skin slowly turned back to it's original color from white. 

"So we're both dead." I grabbed my grandmother's arm and pinched her, but it left no mark. "Nana, doesn't it hurt you?"

"My body does not exist anymore," she told me. "I've left it. But let's not get too complicated now - it's only your first day." We say there quietly as I contemplated my own death. It really is a strange thing, thinking about the moment you died. It's not something you can describe. 

"Monica, I can't stay too long. But there are a few things I have to tell you. First - you cannot go back. There is no way to resurrect you, and you are not a ghost. Second - you will soon realize you can communicate with the living."

"I can?" I cried excitedly. 

"Yes, but _don't_ - not yet." In one moment, every drop of hope left in me disappeared. "In a while, perhaps, you can contact you husband and friends and parents. But not yet. It will hurt them too much, dear." I pouted. So, apparently, I was _able_ to talk to everyone, but she didn't _want_ me too. 

"Thirdly - you may watch them. Whenever you want to see someone, you will. Try it." 

I closed my eyes and thought, _Chandler._ Just the one word. And then, somehow, Chandler was there. I wasn't so much looking down at him, but I wasn't with him either. We were not co-existing. We were in different realms, I later learned. 

He was at work, typing something on his laptop, then answering the phone with a quick, "Chandler Bing." Sometimes, when he said that in a particularly stressed-out way, I would say, "Hello, Chandler Bing," seductively. "He doesn't know I'm dead yet," I said out loud. Then I was back with Nana. 

"No, none of them do," Nana said. "Monica, I have to go, but whenever you need me, I'll come. Your grandfather is here too - I expect you'll see him soon." Nana stood up and started to walk away, with Chi Chi trailing her.

"Wait, Nana!" I called after her, panic flooding me. "Please, don't leave me!"

"Watch, darling... watch," she said, her voice coming from far away - and then she was gone. 

I sighed. Watch. I had to watch. I closed my eyes and thought, _Rachel._

I was immediately transported to where Rachel was. She was home, and Emma was in her arms. She was singing softly to the little girl, and Emma was falling asleep. Rachel stood up and put Emma in her crib in the other room, and then came back to the kitchen, where she put a potato in the oven.

Ross entered the apartment. His eyes were hollow and clouded and his face was white as a sheet, and I knew instantly - he knew.

"Rachel," he said, his voice choked. 

"Ross, what's the matter?" Rachel asked, worry lines crossing her face.

"Sit down," he said gruffly. Rachel, now looking petrified, did. 

"What happened, Ross? You're scaring me," Rachel said.

Ross took Rachel's hands in his own. "Rachel, there was an accident. Monica was hit by a car." His voice broke on the last work. 

Rachel gasped and her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my God! Is she - is she okay?"

Ross shook his head numbly. "No. She - she died, Rach."

Rachel's face was blank for a second. Her mouth was wide open in shock and terror, and then she let out a scream, a purely involuntary scream. "_Nooo!_" she cried. She hit Ross's shoulder with a closed fist. "No! You bastard, you're lying to me!" She continued to hit him until he gave her a quick slap, startling her out of her frenzy. Then she fell against him, and they both sobbed hysterically, holding each other and crying. 

I realized I was crying too, and I left them. It was so painful to watch. But I wasn't done. I couldn't go to Chandler yet, so I thought, _Phoebe_.

Phoebe was in Joey's apartment, and they were sitting with vacant expressions. Tears flowed freely down each of their faces. 

"Oh my God," Phoebe said quietly. "We have to tell Chandler."

"Oh, God, no," Joey said, a look of horror coming over him. "Please. No one has to tell him."

"We do, Joey. Please. We don't want the police to tell him."

"No. Pheebs - he's going to die," Joey cried. "She is - _was_ - oh my god... his whole life!"

She stood up and took his hand. "Wipe your eyes. We have to go."

_No,_ I thought. _I like Joey's idea. He doesn't need to know._ But he did, and Phoebe was right. It would be worse to find out from some impersonal cop. 

And so I watched the worst moment of my husband's life.

Tonight, Phoebe knocked on the door instead of barging in. Chandler opened it, looking confused. "Hey, guys, what's - oh my God, what happened?" he asked as he saw their red eyes and tearstained faces.

"We have to tell you something," Phoebe said. "Let's sit down."

Still looking confused, Chandler, followed by Phoebe and Joey, sat on the couch. 

"Chandler," Phoebe began. "Something has happened. I want you to know that we're all here for you, and we love you very much."

"What's going on, Pheebs?" Chandler asked. He still looked confused, but now apprehensive too. 

"On the way home from work, Monica was hit by a car. She died before they got to the hospital." Phoebe looked away as she said that last sentence.

But I could not tear my eyes from Chandler's horror-stricken faces. His eyes closed, and I thought he was going to pass out. Then he opened them and said harshly, "You're lying to me."

"No, Chandler, I'm - I'm so sorry," Phoebe said, starting to cry. 

"You're _lying!_" he screamed, standing up and pulling Phoebe up with him. 

"I'm not!" Phoebe said, biting her lip and shuddering with grief. 

"Please, Phoebe!" he shouted, shaking her. "Please, God - tell me you're lying! Monica is not dead!"

"Yes," Phoebe whispered. "She is." Chandler saw the incredibly sad, resigned look on her face, and he collapsed into her arms. Joey stood up and held both of them, and then they fell onto the couch, crying. 

I could not stand watching them cry for me. I couldn't stand watching, my husband and brother and best friends weep until they were drained and their eyes stung, and then keep on crying. I pulled myself away, back into heaven. 

And I sat on the soft, warm ground and cried myself to sleep. 

A/N: This is probably more difficult to write than it is to read. I think the next part will be even worse, but please don't give up on this story! It will get better!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews! Sorry this chapter took so long... I've been busy with "The Dry Spell," a new fic written by me and MsAmericanPie88. Check it out! 

The song at the end of this chapter is "Born To Make You Happy." I know the subjects are different, but the song can sort of describe how they are all feeling! That song makes me cry... :`( 

Disclaimer: I don't own the _Friends_, and I don't own "Born to Make You Happy." 

CHAPTER THREE

The next few days were a blur of tears and pain, for me and my loved ones of Earth. I watched as my friends and family experienced shock, denial, and awful, ripping grief. If you've ever lost someone suddenly, you know what I'm talking about. 

I watched as Ross and Rachel stayed home, caring for Emma. I was indescribably thankful for that little baby. She kept my brother and best friend sane. She kept them awake and functioning, she needed them to live, so they could not fall too far into the pit of grief. When Emma cried for them, they were forced to stop thinking about me and care for their daughter. I think she helped them a lot.

Phoebe and Joey also struggled, but together. They spent that first night at mine and Chandler's apartment, terrified that Chandler would do something crazy in those first hours of pain. I watched as my friends lay on the couch together, crying and clutching each other, as if they thought if they let go, they would lose it. 

But the worst was watching Chandler. My husband, my baby. Chandler did not sleep all night. He walked around our room in a daze, sometimes lying still. He threw things and destroyed things, and cried and screamed for me. 

"Why?" he screamed, his voice raspy and desperate. "Why, God, why Monica? Monica, please come back! Please!" He fell onto our bed in hysterics.

"I'm sorry!" I screamed back, but he could not hear me. I screamed until my throat hurt and my eyes burned. "I love you, Chandler," I repeated, over and over. 

The next morning, Joey knocked softly on the door. "Hey, man," he said hoarsely. "Do you - d'you want something to eat?"

Chandler opened the door, and Joey blanched at the sight of him. His hair was standing straight up from running his hands through it, and his eyes were red and puffy from crying. He was slouched over like an old man, bent and broken.

"No," he whispered. Joey grabbed Chandler then and hugged him hard. 

"I'm so sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry, Chandler." 

I watched as my parents and friends got together that day and simply sat, crying and at times holding each other. I watched as my mother hugged Chandler, really hugged him, for the first time. All of her other hugs had been meaningless, more about keeping up appearances than affection. But now, she fell into his arms and Chandler hugged my mother, and she hugged him back. Because they were in pain. Because they had loved something that had been taken from them.

Three days and nights went by, three miserable days. I watched, but I hated it. I could not stand watching everyone hurt so badly. The never-ending tears, the constant ache - it was all too much. But it was all I could do. 

On the third night, Chandler was alone in our room, sitting on the bed. He had in his hands the pajamas I was wearing the night before I died. He held them up to his face and smelled them, and when we pulled them away, they were wet with tears. Then he spoke to me.

"Monica," he said, in the clearest, most normal voice I'd heard him use in three days, "I don't know if you can hear me. But I'm going to talk to you."

"I can hear you!" I yelled, forgetting, again, my inability to be heard on Earth. 

"I miss you so much," he said. "I can't live without you. You are my entire life. Why did this happen? We were supposed to be together forever. _Forever!_ God, Monica, I love you. I love you so much it hurts. Please come back to me," he pleaded. "Please. I want you to wake me up right now and tell me this is all a dream. I want to kiss you and hold you. I have to be dreaming. This wasn't supposed to happen."

"I know," I whispered back. "I know. I love you too." 

He fell asleep from pure exhaustion. I turned away, wiping my eyes. 

"Nana!" I called, walking somewhere, searching for my grandmother. She said she would come if I needed her. "Nana! Where are you?"

"I'm right here," Nana said, appearing next to me. "There is no need to shout, Monica. I'm always with you."

"Okay," I said awkwardly. I was still getting used to the whole heaven thing, and having my grandmother back. "Nana, I want to speak to Chandler. You told me it was possible, and I want to do it. How can I?"

"Are you sure you're ready?" Nana asked. "It will be painful for you both. Do you want to put your husband through that?"

"I have to," I whispered. "I just have to."

"It will drain you of all your energy, and it will hurt."

"I told you already, I don't care."

"All right. Listen carefully, Monica. Close your eyes and think about him. Think about being right next to him, standing next to his bed, watching him sleep. And then reach inside him. You'll know what to do."

"Are you sure?" I said - but Nana was gone. I sighed, and closed my eyes. _I'm coming, Chandler. I'm coming._

And then I appeared next to him. I'd never really been next to him before, just above, or behind. But now, I was there - I was _in our room._ I looked around at the room, picturing myself in it, still alive. 

_No time for nostalgia,_ I reprimanded myself. I nodded, and did what Nana told me. Tentatively, I reached out to Chandler's face, and touched his warm cheek. His jumped slightly, and I pulled my hand away. But he remained asleep. I touched him again, and his eyes began to flutter. But Nana was right - I knew what to do. 

My hand passed through Chandler's skin, into him, into his head. Everything was dark, and then I was walking, walking fast toward him. We were in a tunnel, and he was walking away from me.

"Chandler!" I called. "Chandler!"

He stopped, and turned around. "Monica?" he cried incredulously. We ran at each other, and I catapulted myself into his arms. I could feel his arms around me, warm, holding my tightly, and for a moment I forgot I was dead. I was forgot this was a dream, that I was invading Chandler's dreams. I was just a wife, back in her husband's arms. I started crying at the beauty of it all. 

"Why are you crying?" Chandler asked, pulling me away. "Monica, why are you crying?"

The scene started to dim - Chandler was waking up. I kissed his cheek and looked into his eyes one last time, and then - I was gone. I was falling, back, back, away from Chandler. A scream filled my throat, but I made no sound. And then I hit the ground, the soft, fluffy ground of heaven. I was utterly exhausted. Every bone in my non-existent body, even part of me pulsed with real pain, and I screamed out loud. Tears ran down my face. It was painful.

I had spoken to Chandler in a dream.

Two days later, I attended my funeral. This was very freaky, to wake up one day, get the mail, and find an invitation to my funeral.

Let me explain something about heaven. It really is just another life, but one that revolves around your old life. Things you wanted on Earth are yours in heaven. We live in houses or apartments or mansions, on paved streets with cars and mailboxes and lawns. Well, we do all this if we want to. For a while, most of us live in these settings. It's easier to adjust, and a hell of a lot of fun. We do have fun in heaven. It isn't all crying over your death. For a while, it is, but then it gets better. 

So anyway, I came downstairs for coffee - I'd been up all night crying, but that was nothing new - five days after my death and found my roommate, Lilly, reading the _Los Angeles Times._ She was four years younger than me and had died in a fire two days before me in LA.

"Monica, this came for you," she said, holding up a white envelope. I picked it up and opened it. This was the aforementioned funeral invitation.

"Wow," I said to Lilly. "It's an invitation to my funeral. We get invites up here?"

"Apparently," Lilly said. 

"Have you got one yet?" I asked.

Lilly sighed. "No, and I probably won't. There might be a memorial or something, though. My body got burned up." She held up the newspaper. "I just read about my death. Pleasant, isn't it?"

I patted Lilly on the shoulder. We could talk about Lilly's body later. For now, I had to go to my funeral.

It took place in a church near my parent's house. A minister I'd met a few times said some prayers and talked about what a horrible tragedy my death had been, and then, the part I was really looking forward to - the eulogy.

Ross was the one who gave it. Chandler had declined, and Ross was next on the list. Ross walked unsteadily up the podium, and I watched as Chandler mentally prepared himself for the agonizing speech that was to come. 

What kind of sick idea is a eulogy, anyway? Now that I think about it, it's stupid. Poor Chandler, and Rachel and Phoebe and Joey and my parents, they all have to sit there and listen, and Ross has to talk, about what a wonderful person I was. It's heartbreaking.

"I want to read this letter that my sister wrote to my daughter, Emma, just two months ago. My friends and I decided to put together a time capsule for Emma, along with letters from each of us, after the topic of death came up. It was more of a joke, but we all wrote letters to Emma that she is to open upon her sixteenth birthday. They are supposed to be for her to know us if one of us was to die. I never thought any of these letters would actually be used." He stopped and cleared his throat. 

"Dear Emma," he read. "Hello, my baby girl. I want you to know that I am watching you sleep as I write this. Uncle Chandler and I are baby-sitting for your Mommy and Daddy, and you're sleeping in your bassinet. You are so beautiful. You are the most beautiful baby that I know."

"I love you so much. I tell you that every day. You are a perfect little angel. Everybody thinks it's morbid to write you a letter like this, but I think it's good. What if I died tomorrow? What if you don't get to grow up knowing your Aunt Monica? I know your parents would regret that, so that's why I'm writing to you. I love you so much, and I always will. You may grow up confused about your parents, and the world around you, but you will always know that I'm here for you. Even if I'm gone, I'll always be here for you. I love you, Emma. Love, Aunt Monica."

By this point, everyone, including me, was crying. I remembered writing that letter. While everyone else joked and insisted this idea was too sick to actually do, I sat down and drafted my letter in my mind. Then, later, when everyone else left, completely forgetting about it, I wrote it. Even though I'd prayed it would never have to be used, I'd written it as if it would. And now I'm glad I did. I'm glad Emma will have a little more of me than just stories Ross and Rachel will undoubtedly tell her. I'm glad she has something from me - despite the eerie way in which she will receive it.

I listened to the rest of Ross's eulogy without really hearing about it. He talked about me as a kid, as a young adult. He talked about my job and everything I'd done. He talked about my life with Chandler.

"When Monica first started dating her husband Chandler, I saw something in her that was miraculous. I could tell immediately that they were meant for each other, that they were in love. I'm glad that my sister got to experience the magic that is love."

I could barely see the scene through my own tears. Ross spoke for a while longer, and then people began to leave. One by one, my friends and family went up to my open casket and said their final good-byes.

I looked terrible. _Why hasn't someone put some make-up on me?_ I wondered. _And where in God's name did they find that dress?_ But I knew that wasn't really what was bothering me. No, I was concentrating on the clothes because I didn't want to look at the wreck that was my body.

I had lost so much blood that my skin was colorless, almost translucent. There was a wound on the side of my head from where I'd hit the pavement. My left arm and leg were twisted at strange angles, snapped in half. Cuts and strange, purple bruises covered my body. I could not tear my eyes away from it. It horrified me to see what I had become - a contorted, wrecked shell of a body. 

I watched as Ross led Rachel, almost hysterical, away from me. Finally, Chandler walked up. He knelt by me, and, for lack of a better word, I zoomed in. 

"I have to say good-bye now," he whispered. "But don't worry. I'll never leave you. I'll love you forever, Monica." His voice was choked from holding back his tears. He bent over and softly kissed my cold cheek, and I will swear to this day that I could feel it on my own cheek up in heaven.

Chandler stood up and began to walk away. Suddenly, an older woman hurried up to him. I recognized the woman. I recognized her face. 

It was the face of the last person I'd seen before I died.

"Mr. Bing?" she said softly. "Um, are you Mr. Bing?"

Chandler turned to her and frowned. "Uh, yes - do I know you?"

"No," she said. "My name is Irene Burgess. I'm very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," Chandler said, in the soft, hard voice he'd been replying in for the last five days. The one he would master over the next few weeks.

"Well, I - I have something to tell you," Irene said. I smiled as I realized what she was about to say. "I - I was with Monica when... when she died."

Chandler's eyes perked up. "Excuse me?"

"I was with her," Irene said. "The last thing she said..." she trailed off, taking a deep breath. "The last thing she said was 'tell Chandler I love him.' I just - I thought you'd like to know."

Chandler looked at her for a moment, his eyes widening. "Thank you, Irene," he said softly. "Thank you so much." Irene nodded, and walked away.

As Chandler walked out of the church, he let himself cry. Just after he stepped inside the waiting limo, I began to cry. And down on Earth, it began to rain. 

__

I don't know how to live without your love

I was born to make you happy

Your the only one that's in my heart

I was born to make you happy

Always and forever you and me

That's the way our life should be

I don't know how to live without your love

I was born to make you happy

Copyright 1998"Baby One More Time," Britney Spears


	4. Chapter 4

****

A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long! But you know I have issues with depressing stuff.... :) I might be able to post one more chapter before Christmas, because school is out. Please review!

Disclaimer: I don't own any of them, and if I did, I would not be sitting here writing stories about them.

CHAPTER FOUR

Suddenly, as the limo pulled away, I too began to drift - away from the procession, from Chandler and my body, from Earth. I found myself in a gigantic, open field of flowers. The flowers were surrounding me - I was drowning in bright golds and pinks and blues and reds. I had never been to this part of heaven. Where was I?

I saw a woman, a little older than me, walking towards me, walking on top of the flowers. 

"Hey!" I called to her. "How do I get up there?" I may have been in heaven, but I still felt like a mortal. I wasn't used to the fact that I could fly or walk on water if I felt like it. 

"You're stuck down there, Monica," she said to me. "You're stuck in the flowers because you refuse to leave your own funeral. You're drowning in the flowers the mourners brought."

"Please, how do I get out?" I called, frightened. Still, I refused to stop watching Chandler and my friends drive away - refused to stop watching the coffin that bore my ravaged body.

"This is perfectly normal. You need to stop watching this part for a moment, or you'll be trapped. This is the first step of moving on. Can you let go, Monica?"

No, I wanted to cry. I won't stop watching them. "Can I see them again?"

"Of course," the woman said. "Just not now. Stop watching and climb up." 

I took a deep breath and let the picture float away. Then I gripped the thornless flower stems in my hands and climbed up. I stood next to the woman, who stuck her hand out to me.

"Jessie Franklin," she introduced herself.

"Monica Bing," I said.

"I know."

"Right." I studied the woman's smiling face. 

"You have a lot of questions for me."

"Yes," I said, relieved. "Why can't I watch anymore?"

"You can," she said. "But when you watch your own funeral, you are being tied too close to your death. You need to let your body go, or your loved ones will be disturbed."

"But I wasn't concentrating on my body," I argued.

"Yes, you were."

_You were,_ I told myself. 

"Okay, well, I let it go now," I said stubbornly. "Now, who are you, and how did you know my name?"

"I'm your guidance counselor," Jessie said simply.

"Guidance counselor? Like, as in a high school guidance counselor?" I scoffed.

"In a sense, yes," Jessie said. "I know you've been very confused lately, and I'm here to help you out - basically, to teach you how heaven works." She started walking, and I followed her. "Do you understand that it was your body that was trapping you in the flowers? Your body was weighing you down. You're not a mortal anymore, Monica, but I think you know that." Something on her wrist beeped. She looked at her watch, and I peered at it too. It wasn't a normal watch with two hands and numbers. It had names on many different hands. I saw my own name, flashing, and many other names. Suddenly, my name stopped flashing, and a new one, "Geraldine Calore," began to flash. 

"I'm sorry, Monica," Jessie said. "But someone just died. I have to go."

"Wait!" I cried, alarmed. Why did everyone in heaven disappear right when I needed them? "When will I see you again?"

"Sometime," she said. "Don't worry." And she left.

Annoyed, I walked back to my house. I had learned a few things today. First of all, I had a guidance counselor, who was supposed to guide me. Second, I had to let my body go. Well, that was easy. I was six feet under, now, wasn't I? _That _was a creepy feeling - knowing your body was gone. At least they hadn't cremated me. I don't think I would like the idea of sitting in a tin can on Chandler's mantelpiece forever.

Chandler. _Well, she didn't say I couldn't watch Chandler,_ I thought. I closed my eyes and thought of him - I was getting used to this. 

He was walking into our apartment, alone. He sat down on the couch and loosened his tie, then turned on the TV. He was cold, and wet, and I sadly thought, _If I was still alive, I'd be yelling at him to take his wet clothes off before sitting on the couch._

Seconds later, Chandler jumped up, looking guilty and woeful, with a strange half-smile. 

"Mon, I know you'd be angry to see me sitting here all wet," he said.   
I'm ruining the couch." He promptly went into the bathroom and changed out of his wet tux. 

I was startled. Could he hear me? He hung the tux over the line on the shower just as I'd taught him. I remembered that lesson. It was just after he moved in, and I'd found one of his wet towels on the floor. After taking a deep breath and counting to ten, I'd called him into the bathroom and explained to him that it took all of two seconds to hang up a towel. He'd been hanging towels up ever since. 

I watched as he walked, naked, from the bathroom to our bedroom and smiled. I felt strangely guilty for seeing him naked without him knowing it. But that was ridiculous - I'd certainly seen him naked before. Although not since I died. I'd contemplated watching him while he took a shower, but had been too embarrassed to follow through.

He got dressed and then pulled out a notebook from my dresser. My jaw dropped as I realized what it was - my diary! "Hey!" I called, forgetting for the four-thousandth time since my death that he couldn't hear me. "How did you find that?"

Chandler hesitantly closed the notebook for a second. _My God,_ I thought. _Maybe he _can_ hear me!_ Then he opened it again, and began to write. 

_Monica, _he began. _I miss you so much. Today was your funeral. I had to say good-bye. I'm so sorry I let them take you away. I wanted to stay with you forever. I just wanted you to know that._ His writing was shaky and childlike. That's what he was - a child. A lost child, looking for their mother, crying out for her - but he was damned. 

He continued to write. _I feel you everywhere. You're always around me, you're with me all the time. I feel like I can hear you talking to me. I knew you would be mad earlier if I ruined the couch. Please talk to me, Monica! I need to hear your voice again!_

He put the diary down and laid down. Tears ran down his face like rivers, and he made no move to wipe them away. He stayed like that for hours, and finally I drifted away to watch Ross and Rachel.

Ross was staring blankly at the TV, which was not on, in his apartment. Rachel, looking wearied and still wearing her black dress, came out of Emma's room and sat on the couch next to Ross. He put his arm around her, and they snuggled close together. She started to cry, and he gently wiped her tears away and kissed her hair. 

Despite the fact that they were grieving for me, I saw an opportunity. _Kiss her!_ I thought. _Kiss her, now!_ I wanted them to be together so badly. If only they would admit they were still in love, things would be so much easier! 

But they didn't kiss. They laid there together, their eyes wide and staring, too exhausted to cry or move. Until they both fell asleep. 

Now that my funeral was over, things began to, well, not go back to normal entirely, but get some of its normality back. Joey went on an audition five days after my funeral, and Phoebe massaged a few clients. The group even met once at the coffee shop a few weeks after my death, but all ended up going home in tears after seeing that Gunther had placed a picture of me behind the counter, along with the words, "Our Best Customer.

"Days slipped by. Just before the three-week mark, Chandler's boss called him at home. "Hello?" he answered.

"Bing? Are you coming in tomorrow?" Chandler was shocked. Had his boss forgotten I had died? 

"Well, sir, I - I don't know."

"We need you here."

"Thank you, but see, my wife just - just died." It was difficult for him to say out loud.

"I know, and I'm sorry," he replied. "But we need you to come back. It'll be good for you. A distraction, you know."

Chandler shook his head, and I could tell we were thinking the same thing - does this man have no respect for human grieving?

"I guess - I guess I'll be back tomorrow," Chandler said, and hung up without another word. "Jerk," he muttered. "Asshole." 

I realized, then, that Chandler's boss, however misguided, was right. Chandler needed a distraction. He couldn't sit home and think about me forever. I was glad he was going back. 

The next day, Chandler went to work, went through the motions again. It hurt me to see it, but he was moving on. 

I didn't get to watch anymore during the day, because, taking Chandler's lead, everyone went back to work. My friends were moving on, in a way. They weren't forgetting me. They were trying to have lives again. I thought things would get better for them as time went on. How very wrong I was.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

I was also moving on and adjusting to my life in heaven. I was starting to grasp the concept of death and the afterlife more, and it made my experience more enjoyable. Jessie helped me a lot. She showed me that heaven could be fun, that it didn't all have to be tears over your death.

I also found out that miracles and amazing coincidences actually weren't coincidences - they were acts from those in heaven. I watched one day as an old woman watched her son and his family as their house caught on fire. Her son and granddaughter were on the floor, trying to find a way out of the house, but were lost in the smoke. The woman, somehow, inexplicably, gave her son a nudge in the right direction, and they found the door.

I was amazed. I had discovered something I hadn't known before - not only could we talk to the living in dreams, but we could also touch them, push them in the right direction. I asked my grandmother about it the next time that I saw her.

"Nana," I said. "Can we touch them? I saw this woman save her family's life - if we can save lives, why do people still die?" I stared at her accusingly. "How come you didn't stop me from getting hit by the car?"

"We can't do everything," Nana explained. "We're not God. We can only fix things that _should be_ fixed. Everyone has a time to go. Your friend, Phoebe - she has predicted her own day of death. If something accidentally happens to Phoebe before then, then you may help her."

"Phoebe's really going to die on the day she said?" I asked, perplexed. "I thought that was just a joke!"

"Oh, no," Nana said seriously. "No, Phoebe is a very smart woman. What she said is real, my dear. Phoebe - well, she doesn't have what one could quite call supernatural powers, but she understands everything so much better than regular mortals. You've experience that, haven't you?"

I had. If you were wondering if I touched anyone on my away from Earth, I did. I touched Phoebe. 

She was at work the moment I died, taking a break was massaging her clients. She was taking a sip of water when I floated by. I reached out and touched her. She dropped her water bottle, startled. 

"What was that?" she cried, nervously. "Who's there?" She suddenly became calm, remembering - this had happened before. The day her mother died. "Who's communicating with me?" But I was already gone.

Phoebe knew, though, and she was haunted by it every day. She knew it had been me to touch her. 

Soon, it had been a two months since I'd died. My friends and family were still grieving, naturally, but I wasn't on their minds every moment of every day. I took turns giving each of them dreams about me. In Rachel's, we went shopping, and her subconscious self did not realize I was dead. I was in the audience while Joey acted in Mission Impossible: 3 in his dream. And I ate dinner as a teenager with Ross and my parents. Ross's dream made me laugh out loud. He dreamed about me getting awards in school and being appreciated by my parents. I was happy to know that Ross had wanted me to get some glory. 

Chandler was a different story. I got in his dreams the most, but they were the most painful. The dreams always started out nicely - we would be picnicking at the park or kissing in our bedroom, and then - he would remember. And the dream would be ruined. Chandler would wake up in tears every time. 

I started to worry about Chandler. As the weeks went by, he didn't seem to recover much from the shock, from the pain. He still went home every night and wrote in my diary. He still held my clothes in his hands and looked at pictures of me. He fell behind in work, and his boss discussed firing him. 

He was also very touchy whenever anyone said anything. He was talking on the phone one day with Rachel, and she suggested starting to go through my things to decide what to keep and what to give away to good will. He got angry.

"I don't think I need to do that," he snapped.

"Chandler, you shouldn't be in the apartment with all her things forever," Rachel insisted. "It's not good for you."

"Don't tell me what to do," Chandler said, and hung up. From then on, my friends were careful around him. Soon, they called him less and less. He was fine with that. He was happy to stay home and wallow in his grief.

Four months later, things had not become better. Chandler still cried for me every single night. I grew tired of watching him, and finally, in an effort to help him move on, I got into one of his dreams with a mission.

We were walking hand in hand on dark pathways, and I started talking. "Chandler, you need to move on. I'm not coming back. Get out of your pajamas and move on with your life. Go back and hang out with our friends. They want you there."

He looked at me, realization dawning on his face. "But, Monica - "

"Don't 'but' me," I said. "I'm _dead_. I hate seeing you so miserable. Just try, okay? Can you do that for me, honey?" 

"I guess," Chandler said. Suddenly, he was gone. There was the flash of bright light, like I always saw after leaving a dream - but Chandler had not woken up. What the _hell_ happened?

"Monica! How could you do that?" Jessie yelled. I was standing in some sort of courtroom, and Jessie was speaking to me. At a table behind her sat people that looked like judges, and behind them was a sign that read Heaven's Ordinance of Dreams. 

"What?" I asked meekly. 

"You know you can't tell him things like that in a dream!" Jessie said. Suddenly, I knew. There were laws, even in heaven - and I had broken one of them. You weren't allowed to tell people important things - there were no messages from heaven. Everything that happened in a dream had to come from their imagination - they had to really think about it. You could control it a little bit, but I had gone way over what I was allowed to do. 

"Sorry," I said sourly.

"Sorry isn't good enough," one of the judges boomed. "Your husband will not remember that dream, and you are restricted from invading dreams until further notice!"

"What?" I cried. "You mean I can't talk to _any_ of them?"

"No," the judge said. "Now, go." I turned and left the courtroom, and Jessie followed me.

"I'm sorry, Monica," she said softly. "But you - "

"I crossed the line," I spat. "I know, I know."

"I know you were just trying to help him."

"Thank you!" I cried. "I'm just trying to _help my husband!_" I yelled in the direction of the courthouse. 

"Calm down, Monica," Jessie said. "They don't care. Listen, you have to let it go. You have to let the living live."

"But Chandler's _not_ living," I said. "It's been almost five months, Jess, and he hasn't moved on at all! I mean, not that I want him to forget me, but I do want him to live, like Ross and Rachel and Joey and Phoebe. They don't think about me all the time. I know they'll never forget me, but they've realized by now that I'm _dead_."

"He has to grieve his own way," Jessie said. 

"I have to do something," I said. "I can't just sit here right now. I'm going to go watch them.'' I left Jessie, closed my eyes, and thought, _Chandler._

It was Sunday on Earth. Chandler was sitting in front of the TV, wearing nothing but boxer shorts and an old T-shirt. He wasn't really watching the television - he was staring at our wedding picture, hanging next to it. He moved his eyes from the picture to his wedding band, which was still on his finger.

_God, he still hasn't taken it off,_ I thought. I felt a pang of pity in my non-existent heart. How could Chandler still be wearing his wedding ring? Why did he want the constant reminded of me on his finger, all the time?

Over the next few days, I watched Chandler non-stop. I could feel something, something in the air. Clouds filled my heavenly sky, great big dark clouds, warning me of terrible things to come. For my first few days on heaven, the clouds were like that all the time, but over the weeks, they'd ebbed away. But now they were back, large and black and foreboding. And I did not stop watching.

"Monica," Lilly said to me one day. "Monica, you _must stop._ You can't help him. Look, go have some fun! Jessie told me that Phoebe's written a fantastic new song, you should watch her."

"No," I said dully. "I'd rather watch Chandler."

"You're going to drive yourself crazy," Lilly said, shaking her head.

"Lilly, don't you watch? Don't you get sucked into it?" I demanded.

"For a while, I did," Lilly admitted. "But Monica, it's been almost five months. I've moved on. Sure, I watch sometimes, but not to feel the pain. I watched my little sister in her school play. I watch my grandmother play bingo. Fun stuff, you know? Look, Emma's crawling around like a maniac, she's almost walking - watch her! You'll feel better."

I just shook my head. "You don't understand, Lilly. You don't understand what it's like to be in love."

I went back to Chandler. It was nighttime, and he was rolling around, twisting and turning. I thought he was asleep, but then his eyes opened, and he sat up, throwing the sheets off him. He got up and walked into the kitchen, turning on the bright overhead light. He opened the cabinet and pulled out a small bottle of pills. 

I remembered those pills. When he'd gone to the doctor two weeks before, the doctor had prescribed them. Chandler was still hardly sleeping, and it was hurting his performance at work and driving him nuts. 

I watched as he opened the bottle and swallowed two of the pills dry. Then he went back to bed, where he stared at the ceiling for twenty minutes before falling into a deep sleep. 

He slept through his alarm the next morning and woke at nine-thirty. "Oh, shit," he muttered, jumping out of bed. He dressed quickly and left the house without showering or eating. As he ran out the door, I cringed - he'd left an important report on the kitchen table. 

Chandler raced into the meeting a half-hour late. "Bing," Dough said, giving him a tight smile. He couldn't get angry, not in front of these new clients. "Where have you been?"

"I am so sorry, Doug," Chandler said. "I'm sorry, I overslept."

"We'll discuss this later," Doug said. "Where's the report?"

Chandler opened his briefcase. He searched through it quickly, shuffling through the many papers - but came up empty-handed. His ears turned red and he swallowed hard. 

"Doug, I am so sorry. I think - I think I left them at home," he whispered to his boss. Doug turned purple and glared at Chandler. Then he turned to the clients. 

"Apparently there's been a little mix-up here. Can I have you back another time?" Doug ushered the clients out while Chandler cowered in his chair, humiliated. Doug waltzed back in, scowling.

"Bing," he growled. "I know things have been rough for you lately. But we cannot have slackers working here. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to fire you. You have until tomorrow to get your stuff out of your office." Doug left Chandler sitting, slack-jawed, in the chair. Then he listlessly stood up and walked back to his office. He packed up his few personal items in an hour.

In mortification, he said good-bye to his secretary, and left his office for the last time. 

I stopped watching for a few hours. It made me wince to see how badly Chandler's life had gone down the drain. My death had destroyed him. It had been over five months, and still - still, he was as torn up as he had been during the first week.

I was contemplating going to watch someone else, leaving Chandler be for a while, when Nana appeared next to me. 

"Monica," she said gravely. "You need to see this." She took me to watch Chandler, and I was horrified by what I saw.

He was sitting at the kitchen table, with the open bottle of sleeping pills next to him. He lined them up on the table - 28 in all. He looked at them, and then pulled out my diary. He ripped out a piece of paper and began to write.

_I can't go on like this anymore,_ he wrote. _I have nothing. Monica is dead. I never see my friends. I even lost my job. There is no point in living. I don't want to live anymore. I want to see the sweet emptiness of death. That is why I am writing this. Maybe, as Ross or Rachel or Joey or Phoebe goes through our things, they will find it, and they will know why I did this. I hope this doesn't hurt them. I don't think it will. _

He put his pen down and closed my diary. And in that moment, I felt the brightest ray of hope I'd felt since my death. 

"Nana!" I cried. "Nana, if he dies - he'll be with me! He can come be with me!" I knew it was unbelievably selfish to want Chandler to kill himself, but I thought, if Chandler wanted it, and I wanted it, it would all work out. 

Nana stared at me, her mouth wide open. "So you don't know?" she asked quietly.

"Know what?" 

"Monica," Nana said sadly. "If he kills himself, he won't come to heaven. You'll never see him again."

My stomach flopped. _"What?_" I cried. 

"Suicides don't come here," Nana explained. "Their souls never leave the Earthly plain. He'll be gone forever."

"No!" I yelled. I went back to Chandler, who was holding six of the pills in his hand. "Chandler, don't do it! Please, someone stop him!"

I had seen the light. If Chandler killed himself, I would lose him. He would be gone until the end of time. I would never get to watch him again. 

"Chandler, don't do it!" I cried. "Stop!"

He took the first pill. 

A/N: Hi! Hope everybody had a great Christmas. left a little cliffhanger up there, didn't I? I'm so sorry this took so long, but this is my favorite chapter and I wanted it to be perfect. Was it worth the wait? Please review! Thankies bunches!

Jen


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

After Chandler swallowed the first pill, he just looked at the rest. Hot, angry tears began to roll down his face.

"Goddammit!" he shouted. With a sweep of his arm, he scattered the sleeping pills onto the floor. "Fuck it!" He banged his fist on the table, sobbing furiously. 

Up in heaven, I breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God," I said. He hadn't done it. He hadn't killed himself.

"I won't," he sobbed, looking upwards - straight into my eyes. "I won't, Monica."

There was a knock on the door, and then Joey burst in. "Chandler?" he said tentatively. "Are you okay?" He looked at the raw self-hatred on Chandler's face and saw the pills on the floor. "My God - what happened? Are you all right?"

"No," Chandler said. "Well - no. I'm talking to my dead wife. Did you hear me, Joey? I'm talking to my freaking dead wife."

"It's okay," Joey said, pulling up the chair next to him. He nervously touched Chandler's arm. "It's okay to talk to her. I know you're hurting, Chandler."

"I was going to take the pills," Chandler said. "I was going to kill myself so I could be with Monica." Joey paled and his grip and Chandler's arm tightened. "But then - I think I heard her. She said - she said 'don't.' She told me not to do it, so you know what? I didn't." He looked at Joey, his eyes wide and wild. "Am I crazy, Joey? Am I out of my mind for thinking that Monica could possibly be talking to me?"

"No," Joey said calmly. "No, you're not crazy. I hear her all the time. She's always with us. She'll be with us forever." I was glad to hear that Joey knew I was always there. I loved Joey, but I, sometimes more than others, thought he was sort of, well, dim; that he really didn't grasp many concepts. But he was smart enough, profound enough, to realize I was there. And in that second I loved Joey more than I ever had before. I loved him for being there for Chandler when I couldn't be.

"Thanks," Chandler whispered hoarsely. He ran his hands through his hair. 

"No problem," Joey said, and he hugged Chandler. Chandler yawned.

"I'm going to fall asleep," he said.

"No, no, don't do that," Joey said worriedly. 

"Don't worry, Joe, I only took one. But I'm going to fall asleep." Joey nodded, and Chandler went into his room. He was asleep within minutes.

While Chandler slept, Joey called Ross, Rachel, and Phoebe. They all hurried over, and Joey told them how he'd found Chandler.

"Well, I know we haven't been hanging out with him much lately, but he made it pretty clear he wanted to be alone," Ross said after the shock had worn off.

"He might act like that, but guys, he's alone in life now. He needs us so much. We can't ignore him anymore," Joey said.

"Yeah," Phoebe agreed. "It might hurt, but we need to talk to him. If he was in enough pain to even _consider_ committing suicide, something's wrong."

"Of course something's wrong - Monica's dead," Joey said. They all gaped at him for a moment for stating the fact that had never been stated so clearly - I was dead. Gone.

"And that may be all it is," Rachel said. "But we can't help him on our own. I think we need to get him some professional help."

"Chandler won't talk to a shrink," Joey said. 

"Not necessarily a shrink," Rachel said. "Maybe a therapist. Someone to talk to, someone who can help him."

When Chandler woke up a few hours later, the four were sitting in the living room, watching TV. Rachel had put Emma down for a nap in the guest room. Chandler stumbled sleepily out of the bedroom. 

"Hey, guys," Chandler said, suddenly embarrassed by his episode earlier. 

"Hi, Chandler," Rachel said. She would be the one to talk to him. "Come sit down." Chandler sat down between Rachel and Joey. Phoebe was on Joey's other side, and Ross was in the chair. 

"Listen," Rachel said. "We don't want you to be mad at us, so please just hear me out. We think you need to talk to someone. It doesn't have to be like a shrink, but maybe a therapist. We think you need to talk to someone. We know you're grieving and you're lonely, but we love you. We don't want you to hurt yourself." 

"We really think it would help you," Phoebe said. "That's all we want, Chandler. To help you."

Chandler looked from one honest, open face to the next, and then nodded. "You're right. I can't - I can't go on like this. You guys are absolutely right. I need help."

Ross gave Chandler the name of the therapist he'd spoken to while on sabbatical from work. Chandler made an appointment with him, and days later, began to see him.

Chandler also started hanging out with our friends more. They would talk about me, recall good times. Things were looking up for Chandler, and for the group as a whole. I was not with them in body, but I was there in spirit, no matter how cliched that sounds. I would be in their hearts forever.

Things were also looking up for me in heaven. I still watched, but it was with a lighter heart. I laughed with the group as Emma stuck her face in the cake on her first birthday. I watched Chandler head off to work as a writer for _USA Today_, something he'd always dreamed of doing. I cheered one night as Ross and Rachel kissed on their couch. 

During that kiss, Rachel pulled away, giggling. 

"What?" Ross asked.

"Nothing," Rachel giggled. "I just - I imagined Monica up there saying, 'Finally, you idiots have hooked up!'" She laughed, and Ross laughed too.

One day, I realized I needed to watch less and less. I asked Jessie about it. 

"You're moving on, too," Jessie told me. "It's a good thing, don't worry."

"But if I stop watching them, will I lose them? Will they stop thinking about me?" I asked worriedly. I didn't want to lose my friends.

"No," Jessie said. "Really, it's okay. It may even help them." 

One night, as I watched Chandler write his first real article for _USA Today, _he looked up at the ceiling, and smiled, but did not speak. I watched him a while longer, but still, he did not say a word. But his eyes - his eyes spoke volumes to me. He told me he still loved me; he told me he would love me forever. But he also told me that he needed to move on, needed to have a life. And I wanted that. I wanted my husband to be happy, even without me. I blew him a kiss and whispered, "Good-bye." And then I left him. He slept alone for the first time that night.

The next day, he finally got rid of most of my stuff. He kept all of my personal items and distributed them within the group. The next weekend, he moved out of our apartment to a place a couple of blocks away, a smaller, one-bedroom place.

From then on, I watched my friends only on big occasions. I watched Phoebe and Joey run home from the movie theaters in driving rain. They collapsed onto Joey's couch and started to kiss, and then got in the shower together and made love. They were inseparable from then on.

Rachel and Ross also "hooked up," as Rachel put it. Rachel moved into Ross's room just after Emma turned one and a half. He proposed to her a few months later. 

And then, one day, I did something I had been waiting to do since I'd seen that old woman save her family. Rachel and Phoebe were standing outside Rachel's apartment building, talking, with Emma holding Rachel's hand. Emma wriggled away for a second, and Rachel thought she was just bending down to pick up her pacifier. But Emma, almost 20 months old, had seen a bright red bouncy ball across the street and was going after it. 

"Ball!" she exclaimed, and stepped off the curb into traffic. She was running, and when Rachel looked up a split second later, a car was racing toward her daughter.

"_Emma!_" Rachel screamed at the top of her lungs, but Emma didn't stop. Rachel bolted after the baby, but she was too late. The person in the car was talking on a cell phone and did not see my niece as she ran out in the street. 

I was watching in terror. They couldn't lose Emma - that would destroy my friends. Suddenly, something came back to me. 

_Everyone has a time to go._ It was my grandmother - something my grandmother had said. _We can only fix things that should be fixed._ This could not be Emma's time. I wasn't sure if I believed in God right then, but if I did, I knew God would not be so cruel as to take her from Rachel and Ross. Time seemed to slow down. With all my might, I willed the car to stop. I put my hands out as if to push it, and then - it skidded to a stop. 

"_Emma!_" Rachel screamed again. She collapsed, wrapping her arms around her daughter, and both immediately burst into tears. "Oh my God. Thank God you're all right!"

The man who was driving the car stepped out, wiping sheen of sweat from his forehead.

"Goddamn, lady, you've got a guardian angel watching out for you somewhere," he exclaimed. Through her tears, Rachel looked up at the sky and smiled.

"Yeah," she said. "I do."

A/N: Thank you for all the reviews! The next chapter will most likely be the last one :( I hope you all liked this chapter. *hugs Jenni* (aargh how many times must we say NOT ME!) Anyways... please review! Reviews mean so much! Thanks

Jen


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

Death is not the horrible thing everyone thinks it is. You are not punished for your sins; you do not suffer because of your mistakes. There is pain - the pain of the actual, physical death, the pain of leaving your loved ones. But this pain is not forever. I found this out one day about six years after my death.

My father, looking just like he had when I was young, came walking out of the clouds. "Daddy?" I whispered, unsure.

"Hello, my little Harmonica," he said. My father had died peacefully in his sleep. "Dance with me, sweetheart." He opened his arms, and for the first time since I'd died, I was enveloped in the warm folds of my father. We danced underneath the heavenly stars all night long.

Later, he explained his death to me. It had not been harsh or painful like mine. He'd known it was coming - he said good-bye to his family that night, resigned to the notion that he was going to die. He fell asleep peacefully, with a sense of warmth and serenity covering him like a blanket. He awoke in heaven, but he was not startled or afraid - he knew just what to do. And he came straight to me. 

Everyone wants to die in their sleep, and I know, now, that it is so much easier.

Watching Chandler became more of a casual hobby than an obsession as the years wore on. I read his articles in the newspaper and laughed at his sarcasm, which, when honed, added to his talent as a writer.

Chandler did not date for a very long time after my death, but concentrated became a very successful writer. He was content with his life being his writing, his friends, and his family. A year after my death, he and his estranged father got together and worked things out. He also spoke to his mother more often. 

The few dates he went on were very difficult to watch. His first was with Janice - yes, I said Janice. They bumped into each other at a grocery store in Chelsea five years after my death, and got to talking. She and Gary had divorced a few years before and she was a single mom again. They went out for dinner a few times and ended up in bed. I was almost sick with jealousy - Janice was making love to my husband. But for a while, she made him happy. And I guess that matters the most. They only went out for a few months before deciding to go their separate ways. 

Chandler dated a few more girls that Joey set him up with, but he did not enjoy them, and soon gave women up altogether. He was not, as some people claimed, gay - he simply chose not to date anymore. I felt bad for him, sometimes, because he never again felt the love and passion we'd had. But sometimes that's just how things work.

*****************************

Twelve years later, I smiled down at my friends as they ate Thanksgiving dinner and Ross and Rachel's house. 

Rachel and Ross got married, and before long, Rachel was pregnant again. They had two more children, both girls, born three and six years after Emma. They were named Brittany Monica and Juliana Jordan.

Joey and Phoebe also wed, two years later, and Phoebe had twin boys seven months later, Joshua and Jason. 

This Thanksgiving, my friends were 43 or 44. Emma was 13, Brittany, Josh, and Jason were 11, and Juliana was 7. So many years had passed, so many important events, so many births and weddings and deaths.

Everyone thought I had missed it all. They were sad that I had never known my nieces and nephews, that I hadn't been part of their weddings. But I had not missed it. I had watched them through every moment of it. I cried when they had troubles and laughed when they were happy. I was as much a part of their lives as when I was alive - they just didn't know it. 

I sat with my father and watched on this particular Thanksgiving. The clouds in my heaven had reappeared for the first time since my father's death, and I was worried. Something was going to happen today. 

After they ate dinner, they all sat down to watch football. The men were cheering and drinking beer, and the kids were playing on the computer or watching with them. 

Suddenly, Chandler's face changed. A tinge of blue appeared, and he clutched his chest. His muscles all seized up. 

Emma was the first one to notice. "Uncle Chandler?" she said. "Uncle Chandler, what's wrong?"

"I can't breathe," he said. Everyone turned to look at him, and Rachel dove for the phone and started calling 911. "My - my chest hurts."

"Everything's going to be fine, Chandler," Phoebe said, taking his hand. "Just breathe deeply. There you go."

But Chandler couldn't breathe. His heart was slowing down - he was having a heart attack. 

My mother took the kids out of the room, and my friends all stayed with Chandler and talked to him, comforted him, during his last seconds. The ambulance arrived minutes later, but he died on the way to the hospital. 

Rachel, Ross, Phoebe, and Joey watched numbly as they covered my husband's body with a sheet and wheeled him away. Joey yelled out and reached for his best friend, refusing to accept he was dead. He collapsed into Phoebe's arms and sobbed, "He'd only 43... 43 year olds don't die of heart attacks..."

Once the shock had worn off, my friends realized it was time to tell their children. None of them had experienced any deaths except my father's, and most of them had been too young to really understand. 

However, they had heard stories of me - beautiful, brave, sweet Aunt Monica. Their parents had all told them stories about me, about how I acted and how I lived and how much I would have loved them. They had given Emma the letter I wrote her on her thirteenth birthday. Chandler had even told her and Brittany about how we had hooked up, and they laughed for hours. 

That day, Ross and Rachel brought Emma, Brittany, and Juliana into a waiting room and sat them down.

"Girls, we have something to tell you," Rachel began, trying to keep her voice steady. "Uncle Chandler had a heart attack and he... he..." she broke off, and Emma and Brittany, old enough to understand, looked terrified.

"He didn't make it," Ross finished for his wife. Brittany started crying and Emma sat back in shock. 

"He's - dead?" she gasped.

"Yes, honey."

"What do you mean, dead?" Juliana asked, furrowing her brow. 

"He's not coming home, Jules," Ross said, taking his daughter in his lap. "He's gone to sleep forever. He's in heaven now."

"With Aunt Monica?"

Rachel and Ross smiled, and I felt my heart jump. 

"Yes, sweetheart. With Aunt Monica." 

My friends would go home that day, trying to keep up a brave front for their children, but inside they would be crying - for they were once again grieving for their best friend. 

I felt none of their pain. I bustled around heaven, as excited as I could possibly be. I even, for the first time, tried to make my outward appearance look good. 

Because that's when he arrived.

I'll never forget the moment I saw my wife again. She walked up to me, grinning from ear to ear. I had just experience a whirlwind of events, and was utterly confused. But then, there she was. Glowing, literally shining.

Monica was an angel. 

"Hi," she whispered. 

"Hi," I said. "I thought I'd never see you again."

"You didn't need to worry," Monica whispered. "We'll be together forever." We kissed, for the first time in twelve years. "I've been watching you. Ever since I died. Whenever you felt me - I was really there. Watching you. From up in heaven." 

"I love you, Monica," I whispered into her ear.

"I love you too, Chandler."

THE END 

A/N: Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed the end. I never considered bringing Monica back (those of you who read Lovely Bones know what I mean) but I thought this was a nice way to end it. I think I ended it well enough, though. Please give me your opinion, and watch for another new story that will hopefully be out soon! Thanks again.

Luv ya all,

Jen


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